r, that he had paid a little closer
attention when Mr. George Washington Bacon arranged his names for him.

"We should like to have a few minutes' private conversation with you,
Mr. Marshal," said Bacon, lowering his voice.

"Fire away, gents."

"I--ahem!--I said private, Mr. Crow."

"Well, if it's anything you don't want the birds to hear, I guess we'd
better go up to the house. If you don't mind that woodpecker up yander
an' them two sparrers out there in the road, I guess this is about as
private a place as you'll find in Tinkletown."

"Haven't you--an office, Mr. Crow?" demanded Mr. Bacon.

"Yes, but it ain't private. Whenever I've got anything private to 'tend
to--er even _think_ about--I allus go out in the middle of the street.
Shoot ahead; nobody'll hear you."

"It will take some little time," explained Mr. Bonaparte, anxiously.
"Have you had your dinner?"

Anderson looked at him keenly. "What's that got to do with it?"

"Mr. Bonaparte means supper," explained Mr. Bacon. "He is a bit excited,
Mr. Crow."

"He _must_ be," agreed Anderson, glancing at his watch. "Half-past six.
Go ahead. We won't be interrupted now till it's time to go to bed."

The two strangers in Tinkletown drew still closer--so close, indeed,
that the town marshal, having had his pocket picked once or twice at the
County Fair, fell back a little from the fence.

"You must be careful to show no sign of surprise, Mr. Crow," said Bacon.
"What I am about to say to you may startle you, but you--"

Anderson reassured him with a gesture.

"Perceed," he said.

Whereupon the spokesman, Mr. Bacon, did a tale unfold that caused the
town marshal to lie awake nearly all night and to pop out of bed the
next morning fully an hour earlier than usual. For the time being,
however, he succeeded so admirably in simulating indifference that the
men themselves were not only surprised but a trifle disturbed. He wasn't
conducting himself at all as they had expected. At the conclusion of
this serious fifteen minutes' recital,--rendered into paragraphs by
Anderson's frequent interruptions,--the eager Mr. Bonaparte exclaimed:

"Well, Mr. Crow, doesn't it completely bowl you over?"

"What's that? Bowl me over? I should say not! Why, I knowed fer I can't
tell you how long that there's gold up yander in my piece of timberland
on Crow's Mountain. Knowed it ever since I was a boy."

His hearers blinked rapidly for a few seconds.

"Really?" murmured Mr.